Alone
by msgalinda
Summary: Wicked At Shiz. For what was ‘alone,’ really? Surely being by yourself suited as a reasonable definition for most, but of course, she was not most she never was. Oneshot. COMPLETED


Being alone. It wasn't a new concept to her. Conversely, she had grown quite accustomed to it, as having such a unique complexion did, in fact, seem to set her apart from others. She was on a different level than everyone else. She wasn't higher, she wasn't lower. She was different, and she'd grown quite accustomed to that, too. She had concluded that her peers were not racist towards her, as she could hardly consider one person to be a race. Yet, people were, in one form or another, deeply prejudice towards her. She understood that college students were often shallow and self-absorbed, and, as she had unfortunately found out, positively cruel to those unlike themselves. So being alone seemed to suit her rather well. She'd been alone all her life, so she could certainly continue living this way, indeed she found it lovely. Really.

So, because 'alone' was all she knew, 'alone' was all she did. She sat in her windowsill all day, and whether she was in deep thought, contemplating new ingenious philosophies, or daydreaming, watching her fellow classmates enjoy themselves on the school grounds, no one ever knew. And she didn't care to tell anyone.

So, alone she was, and alone she'd stay. But, if you were to ask her what she meant by alone, would she be able to tell you? The definition was fuzzy, for sure. There was always the question as to the difference between being alone and being lonely. And sometimes, it didn't seem to make much of a difference at all, but sometimes it made all the difference in the world.

And it was in that timeframe, when she was lost in the realm of isolation and secrecy, that she really began to think. When a person is alone, something happens, perhaps it's the revelation that no one is watching them- that they can let down their guard, and step out of the shell that has been so meticulously fortified over years of incessant torture and ridicule. It's quite a feeling, a time where most get the better portion of their thinking done. And for once, she was no exception.

For what was 'alone,' really? Surely being by yourself suited as a reasonable definition for most, but of course, she was not most; she never was. For her, and because it was all she ever knew, being alone was being safe. It was that feeling of total security that could only be experienced when the circumstances allowed. It was then; when 'alone' was not only a theory, but a reality, an emotion. She would feel it in her spot at the window, in the warm embrace of the few remaining rays of sunlight that had not yet fallen into darkness. She would feel it in the short minutes before she slipped into unconsciousness every night, lying perfectly still, warm and protected in her haven of blankets. But it was then, also, when the slightest noise from her _blonde_ roommate, however unaware she was of making it, would shake her from this paradise, and bring her tumbling back down to reality with a painful crash landing.

The girl then realized, amidst her cloud of thoughts that this brought about a whole new topic. She knew, of course, that she thought a lot, in fact, she considered thinking to be one of her so-called 'hobbies' that seemed to be all the rage at school. She was certainly better at it than her roommate, on whom those thoughts had now settled.

It had always been before, that she could think her way through any bump that came across her not-so-smooth road, but she always came up short when it came to thinking about her roommate, who, coincidently, was rather short herself. She could never understand how one person, so small in size, could have a presence so large, that one would know she had arrived before actually seeing her. The girl couldn't figure out how someone could have all eyes on her, every mind captivated just by walking into a room. But the most confusing, perhaps, was why all of these traits were just an outer coating, much like the make-up she wore. For when the blonde was away from all of the attention and enamor of her followers, when she too encountered the feeling of being 'alone,' she was most different.

As the door opened, the girl looked up from her niche in the windowsill, and watched the aforementioned roommate bounce her way across the floor. She marveled at how this one person could have two sides to her, one utterly separate from the other, and she marveled at how intriguing both sides were. She watched intently, as the transformation began before her eyes, as the fake, superior, self-centered exterior melted away and a completely different girl emerged from within. This side, much unlike the other, was one of compassion and intelligence, although the level of beauty was undoubtedly the same for both sides, little else was alike.

She figured that if she had even once acknowledged the blonde's existence she might not have the privilege to see the girl that lay underneath the glitter, and although she told herself she couldn't care less what her roommate's personality was like, indoors, or out, she did, so she kept to herself. It had been, at first, utter detestation she'd felt for her blonde roommate; a hatred so strong, she could not find words even in her vast vocabulary to describe the amplitude of loathing. However, as the months had gone by, and although in those months there was no interaction between the two, she was almost disgusted to find herself longing to learn more about her roommate, almost.

And so the days dragged by, while one girl sat in her designated spot at the window, overlooking the setting sun, the other sat in her equally appropriate spot at a drastically over-decorated vanity table, brushing her gently curled golden hair. One was calm and sarcastic, the other energetic and dramatic. One was quite near the bottom of the social ladder, while the other had her own pink satin throne at the top of it, yet, it seemed, in some world, in some form, opposites attract.

It began one day, where the more peculiar of the two sat once again in her spot at the window, and after primping to satisfaction, the other slowly swiveled around to steal a glance at her.

There was a magical elegance about her, something that couldn't be described in the limited selection of words the language holds, but as she sat there, absorbed in her own mind, her own feeling, she seemed rather lovely. The blonde watched intently as nimble fingers brushed away the smooth black hair that seemed to always be in the eyes of its beholder, so to speak. The thing, though, that caught her eye, was the way her roommates eyes were shining as she looked out over the school grounds; shining as she'd never seen those particular eyes shine before. The blonde then realized she had never seen her roommate show any sign of emotion, and that seeing her eyes well up with tears left her persuaded sense of revulsion on the vanity, as she slowly, quietly, approached her roommate for the first time.

The girl in the window didn't take note of a curious lovely figure padding her way over to her, didn't notice as her blonde roommate sat on the windowsill facing her, she didn't notice until a well moisturized hand slipped comfortably into her own. At this, she started, and looked at the petite girl in front of her, positive the look on her face resembled one of complete shock and disbelief. The tears had fallen at the sudden movement, leaving moistened trails of salty tears down her cheeks. She calmed, though, as soft, concerned blue eyes searched her face, as the other of the two smooth hands touched her cheeks, wiping away foolish tears.

No words were said as the blonde shifted next to her friend and put two gentle arms around her, both girls settling in to watch the remainder of the sunset.

To the girl who had been alone all her life, she found this new feeling of comfort to be a release of years of pent up stress and hurt. The abundance of irritation and feelings of remorse were slowly slipping away as she allowed her head to rest on a blonde shoulder, and allowed her eyes to slip closed as a pair of comforting lips were pressed lightly against her temple.

Her last coherent thoughts as the slowed breathing of her new friend lulled her to sleep, were those once again pondering the true meaning of the word 'alone.' Surely it was a powerful word, so fuzzy in meaning one could think it over for a large amount of time and still not come up with an adequate definition. It was also, definitely not a feeling she was experiencing in that moment, enfolded in another's arms instead of blankets or rays of sunlight. For, really, she admitted to herself, if you're alone in every sense of the word, you'd be quite lonely.


End file.
